Bottom Line
by vibienne
Summary: This is a GrissomSara story! Finally the truth about what really happened after Grissom and Sofia had dinner.


**Title: **Bottom Line

**Author:** vibienne

**Category:** Grissom/Sara

**Disclaimer:** These characters do not belong to me. No profit is made, no copyright infringement intended.

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** Sara's POV. This is what REALLY happened after Grissom and Sofia had dinner. Trust me!

A special thanks again to my lovely beta, your input is priceless!

And yes, to those of you who enjoyed the "Willows" story; Catherine and Sara will also be back.

The sound of keys in my front door wakes me from a restless sleep.

Strangely disoriented, I try to focus my eyes on something, anything. The alarm clock…its one am…it's my night off…no wonder I am confused.

Soft footsteps and my door closes. My heart is pounding. Why is he here? I am telling myself that I knew he would come, but in actuality, I didn't. I am so afraid I can hardly breathe. He does not need my permission to pursue whatever it is he wants from Sofia. He can do whatever the hell he wants to.

This deception, this denial, all these lies and unspoken truths between us, has gone on for long enough. I knew years ago that there was only so much I could take. Even from him.

We both knew the big break would have to come at one point - the inevitable moment when it had to change. And as I lye here in the dark, I am absolutely terrified that moment is now, and it is the reason for him being here.

Of course, this has not been the first time he sneaks into my apartment in the middle of the night, or the middle of the day for that fact.

But after having been to dinner with her - knowing I knew about it - why is he here?

I feel my body tense up and I start to shake. Why is he doing this to me? And, most importantly, why am I letting him?

I am not sure I can face him, and whatever it is he has to say to me, so I just pretend to be fast asleep.

"Sara?"

God, I hate it when he says my name like that. It's half a whisper, half a question, almost a statement. It gets me every time.

I don't want to speak. I don't know what to do. He came here, so now he can do the talking.

"Sara!"

Yep, my mind is answering; but I can't speak, and why the hell do I feel tears in my eyes? Damn him. I am so tired of being this heartbroken all the time, damn him.

I can feel him standing in the doorway of my bedroom. I feel his eyes on me. I can feel the intensity of his thoughts. I know he has an important reason for being here, and I am so terrified that I want to cry.

I want him to go away. I want to throw things at him and watch them shatter into a million pieces, making the most god-awful crashing sounds. I feel a mad rage starting to build in the pit of my stomach. I want to hit him so hard. But here I am, wearing no clothes. Damn. Never have I felt more exposed and vulnerable, even though I am wrapped up in my sheets. How dare he come here like this? And why am I crying?

I feel his footsteps coming closer and I feel him sitting down on the edge of the bed. Luckily, I am facing the other way, so he can't see my face and know that I am awake. I am afraid to stir. I have to remind myself to breathe.

Suddenly I feel a firm hand on my shoulder. Can he tell I am still shaking?

"Sara." Again. I can't bear it.

For some odd reason my voice is calm and factual, toneless and emotionless, "Don't touch me."

And even in this emotional turmoil, I don't mean it for a second. Still, his hand leaves my shoulder, and I feel more tears burning in my eyes, running down my face and onto my pillow. I freakin' never cry. I know its anger more than anything else, though.

Minutes that feel like hours pass in silence and then another touch of his hand turns my disappointment and anxiety into complete rage.

I swing around and start throwing mad punches at him. I am shouting at him, and he is trying to grab hold of me and make me stop.

"How dare you come here tonight? How dare you? Don't touch me. Leave me alone, just get out and leave me alone."

He is trying to hold me down by my wrists and my anger multiplies. I am wiggling around like a mad woman, throwing my head from side to side, crying, shouting, kicking my legs. He is trying to pin me down on the bed, saying my name over and over and over again.

I am so hot and can't stop crying.

He is stronger than me, though. He manages to cover my mouth with one of his hands, and I give up. He leans over me and, even though it is dark, I can see his eyes staring straight into mine.

I finally shut up, and try to breathe through my nose. What the hell just happened? Am I going insane? I quickly realize that I have kicked the sheet off of me, and am lying here naked. He takes his hand off my mouth and let's go of me. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, he buries his head in his hands. I reach for my sheet and wrap it around myself. I sit up as well, and pull my knees into my chest. My God. What just happened? Who was that woman?

"My God," is all I can say. My voice is croaky from the shouting. I clear my throat.

He isn't saying a word. He can't even look at me now.

"My God," I repeat. Nothing else seems to be on my mind. I run my hands through my hair.

Finally, he turns to look at me. My eyes have adapted to the dark, so I can see him, but I can't read him. I know the expression on my face must be just about as blank as it can possibly get. I hold his gaze for absolutely ever. Slowly his eyes are starting to soothe my soul. They are comforting and gentle. He is looking at my mouth. Goddamn the man.

He moves a bit closer and his hand touches my face. He leans in and next thing I know he is giving me the most wonderfully sweet and breathtaking of all kisses. It's been weeks since we kissed last, possibly months.

I feel my stomach tingle and instantly my brain switches off and nothing matters but him and me and the soul-shattering fact that we want each other. And I hate him for it. I hate him for continuously screwing with my head, for continuously breaking my heart, and I hate him for making me cry.

More adrenalin is rushing through my body and I lose myself in his kiss. I pull him closer to me and literally throw myself at him. He fully welcomes what I give – taking me into his arms and drawing small circles on my back with his hand. Amazing how fine the line between rage and lust can be. It's frightening.

He moves me into a lying down position and shifts himself to lie next to me. He props himself up on one elbow and moves in for another kiss. Suddenly his hands are all over me, and I am glad I am not standing up, as my sense of balance must have surely gone to hell.

There is absolutely no question about what he wants from me right now. And I want it, too, more than anything. My hands run through his hair. The way his tongue plays with mine makes me so hot for him.

"Sara." He whispers my name again, this time in an irresistible, breathless way. He yanks the sheet off of me, and runs his fingers down my neck, my shoulders, my stomach, my hips, and as far as he can reach down my thigh. He is closely observing what he is touching. It looks like he is trying to think - I recognize that look on his face. His thumb is tracing my hipbone.

"I am sorry," he says. '_What have you done?_' my mind is asking.

"I have tried to let this go." He looks up and into my eyes. He pulls up his eyebrows and his lips form the words before he speaks again, "And I can't."

My heart stops along with time.

"I…," his glance goes back to his thumb- which is still playing with my hipbone, and back up again into my eyes.

"I am in love with you, Sara."

How many times have I imagined him saying it? How many times in our most intimate moments have I thought - surely he is going to tell me how he feels about me. How many times over the past ten years? Uncountable. And now I have no words of my own. None at all.

"Grissom…," is all I can say. What's the matter with me? I just look at him - my mind has gone blank. He must be sensing my confusion, because he continues, "I want you."

Yes- that I have heard before. Is that a smile I feel in the pit of my stomach?

He puts on his shy and speechless face and pulls me towards him by my ass. As always, the feel of our bodies so close together is electric. All I can do is let out a throaty sigh. I allow myself to look into his eyes just that little bit longer before I kiss him again. It has never felt nicer. I feel his hot breath on my face and his firm touch everywhere. He lets out pleasurable sounds, and he is giving me the feeling that he won't ever be able to get enough of me.

I start to unbutton his shirt. Why am I shaking? Luckily, he is quicker than me, and manages to get out of his clothes in seconds.

"Come here," I say, and our naked bodies touch. Warm. Wonderful. Exciting. He traces my lips and then kisses me again.

I feel his breath change, and, in a very different way from ten minutes ago, he pins me to the bed again. He plants kisses down my neck, down my stomach, past my bellybutton…God! I grab the sheet as he squeezes my thighs. I moan. God.

His kisses soon travel back up and he kisses my mouth. His sudden raw passion for me is absolutely overwhelming.

"Sara." He whispers my name between kisses and I wrap my legs around him. Again, he kisses my neck, rolling my head to one side trying to get better access. He is absolutely killing me. I feel the urge to tell him flat out in two words what I want him to do to me, but I decide it might spoil the mood. I pull him in for another juicy kiss, hoping he'll get the message in case he is waiting for my permission to move on.

Goodness, only hours earlier I had absolutely convinced myself I would never kiss him again, that he would never hold me again. I had already started imagining him with Sofia. And now this. I am faced with nothing but the realization that I am so, so much in love with him. Maybe that's the ultimate bottom line. He does something to me that I have not felt with anybody else.

I soon give up trying to make sense of what I am thinking. He is looking at me through half closed eyes, and I decide to temporarily cease control over the situation, over my feelings, over my life. I close my eyes, let go, and bask in the physical sensation of our lovemaking.

When it is all over, he is half lying on top of me, facing away from me. I feel my heart still racing as we are both catching our breath. What a complete surreal moment. We stay like that for ages and I finally reach across and stroke his hair. He turns towards me and smiles his boyish Grissom smile.

"I…," Oh God, he is stuttering again already. "We...," I look at him through half closed eyes - my accusing look. Come on, Grissom. Spit it out.

"I think we need to talk," he finally manages to say. I give him my million-dollar smile. "Yes, we do." For a moment, I wonder if this is all really happening.

Are we going to make this real? No more sneaking around? No more secret sexual encounters that are wonderful, yet never mentioned outside our bedrooms?

"Grissom?" I need to know. For my own sanity, I need to know. "Say it again."

He chuckles, and then softy touches my face with his fingertips. Again, I can see the words on his lips before he slightly shrugs and whispers, "I'm in love with you, Sara."


End file.
